


The Holes In My Apologies

by PaleNoFace



Series: Smeet Army AU [7]
Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Sex, All the Denial, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Couch Cuddles, Couch Sex, Deepthroating, Demisexual Dib (Invader Zim), Denial of Feelings, Developing Relationship, Emotionally Repressed, Feelings Realization, Friends to Lovers, GIR Causing Problems (Invader Zim), Gaz Has a Bat (Invader Zim), Gratuitous use of italics, Hand Jobs, Hermaphrodite Zim (Invader Zim), M/M, Nemeses to Lovers, Non-Human Genitalia, Oblivious Dib (Invader Zim), Oblivious Professor Membrane, Obsessive Dib (Invader Zim), Older Dib (Invader Zim), POV Dib (Invader Zim), Pre Smeet Army Era, Self-Discovery, Switching, Tags Are Hard, Tall Zim (Invader Zim), Thunderstorms, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Zim Has a Penis and a Vagina (Invader Zim), although it's not mutually exclusive, barely bc zim's dick is kinda shORT, enough to talk to him about appropriate use of condoms, he's a smart dumbass, he's a tol boy now, he's also a smart dumbass but he's also Absent, i mean??? technically???, let it be known that membrane worries about his son, more like, no emotional intelligence in this house no sir, strong denial, unlike the rest of him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:40:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24465109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaleNoFace/pseuds/PaleNoFace
Summary: "Irkens don't love," Zim informs the room from the depths of his blanket.Dib would have been more inclined to believe that if the Invader wasn't currently sprawled all over him like some sort of touch-starved octopus.(Chapter 1 is build-up, so you can read it safely if you're not into whatever is happening in the tags - all the smut will be in chapter 2.)
Relationships: Dib & Zim (Invader Zim), Dib/Zim (Invader Zim)
Series: Smeet Army AU [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1658659
Comments: 16
Kudos: 189





	1. You Feel Like Falling Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this the first time I write actual smut ? Yes. Did I really decide to dedicate it to a monsterfucker and his alien boyfriend ? Also yes. Do I regret it ? It's almost 5 AM and I have no concept of shame anymore.
> 
> This story happens at the beginning of "Nurture Teaches What Nature Can't". It technically can be read as a stand-alone, but it makes more sense in context of the series.
> 
> Also, fair warning : Dib is like seventeen in this. They're about to graduate from high school.
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS : Slight eye horror - Zim takes out one of his implants before putting it back. It's short, but it's there.

"Irkens don't love," Zim informs the room from the depths of his blanket.

Dib would have been more inclined to believe that if the Invader wasn't currently sprawled all over him like some sort of touch-starved octopus.

"Sure they don't, Space Boy," he hums, and the other makes an annoyed noise, but doesn't insist.

Outside, the sky seems to have a personal vendetta against them, if the apocalyptic thunderstorm is anything to go by. Dib spares Gaz a sympathetic thought, since she's still at Skool for the programming club, probably cursing to hell and back every single idiot stuck with her, and will have to walk home under the deluge by herself since Professor Membrane is still barricaded in the labs and there's no way Dib goes back out anytime in the near future.

So here they are. On Dib's couch, Mysterious Mysteries reruns playing softly in the background, while they're trying to wipe away any remain of the diluvian rain that surprised them on their way back from their last fight. Dib feels like they might never be dry again - he's glad Zim isn't hurt, not from the rain at least, not with the heavy layer of paste and Dib's coat thrown over his head as they skipped across town.

He still has a black eye from when Dib socked him in the face with a fire extinguisher, though, but it's nothing that won't be healed in a couple of hours.

So here they are.

Here. They. Are.

Dib shifts slightly, readjusting Zim's weight on top of him. It's been maybe a year since the PAK Incident™ and the Irken seems to keep gaining inches, hitting grow spurt after grow spurt. Putting on some mass, too, to the point where Dib doesn't have the impression to fight a rabid alley cat anymore, but a deadly teenage human barely shorter than him.

(Deep down, he really hopes Zim never gets taller than him, or else he might never hear the end of it.)

They stare blankly at the TV for a moment, huddled as they are on their end of the couch, a pile of bunched blankets and messy limbs.

And then it happens.

He doesn't really know _how_ or _why_. One minute they're dozing off, tangled with one another in a way that's become almost familiar ; the next, Zim is shedding blanket and shirt - _one of Dib's shirts, that the bastard stole and claimed for himself_ , the boy's treacherous brain supplies- and crowding up in his space.

"What do you think you're doing ?" Dib asks flatly, Zim's sudden proximity making him go a little cross-eyed.

"Making a point," the alien replies on the same tone, then grabs the other's hand and places it under his ribs.

Dib feels his face turn a hot shade of red in surprise, but he keeps his mouth shut just in case it makes Zim change his mind, because that would definitely be a tragedy.

"This," Zim continues, undisturbed, as he presses the fingers right under the edge of his thoracic cage, "Is a shnick. It's a part of the squeedly spooch that specializes in temperature regulation. The PAK usually does all the work, but in case of malfunction or emergency, the organ takes over and makes sure the meatsuit doesn't die of heatstroke or frostbite."

Dib is transfixed by the contrast between his hand and the green skin underneath, _how pretty it looks together_ , and his mouth refuses to collaborate for longer than it takes him to let out a strangled hum of understanding. Satisfied, Zim brings the hand to his throat, his head tilted back, and pushes Dib's thumb to dig under his jaw.

"Feel that ? It's a voice modulator, doubled with a translator. Without it, all you would hear from Zim is Irken."

"Can't you just-" Dib starts, and _goddammit_ his voice is way too rough to pass as normal. "Learn English ? Or something ? You've been on Earth for a while, dude."

"Stupid," the Irken chuckles, and it vibrates against Dib's palm. "No tongue or vocal chord other than your species' is adapted to work around your barbaric language. I _know_ English, Dib-beast, but I would be physically incapable to speak it without this."

Next, he raises the hand that isn't holding Dib's and spreads out the three fingers, flexing the articulations in quick motions.

"When we hatch, we have bone growth at the fingertips. Some sort of vestigial claws." He wiggles the rounded tips in Dib's face, showing how straight and unclawed they are. "Very ineffective as they get in the way of most weapons, so they are replaced with shorter phalanges early in life. When Tallest are promoted, they get their claws back, but their thumbs are cut off instead."

The hand exploration resumes, this time south south _south_ , and Dib is growing somewhat antsy at the direction this is taking, but Zim stops him right where a belly button would have been, had he been human.

Dib splays his fingers, curious, and his thumb and pinkie brush against the sharp edges of Zim's hipbones. He never realized how slim it was before. Maybe because he hasn't had that many occasions to catch Zim shirtless.

When he looks up, a question on his lips, the alien's facial expression makes him stagger : Zim looks... soft, for a lack of a better world, eyelids heavy and small smile tugging at the edges of that ridiculous mouth.

Dib swallows thickly and tries to ignore the way his pants are suddenly too tight.

"Zim-"

The alien ignores him completely, visibly set on finishing his biology lesson.

"Over the last millennia, the evolution of cloning techniques changed the way Irkens looked and acted. Our nutritional intake is regulated via PAK, so is the air we breathe, and so is our circadian cycle. No need for real food, real air, real sleep. It just isn't efficient for soldiers to stop every so often to attend physiological needs. Non-vital organs are replaced by mechanical upgrades-" with that, Zim takes a second to quickly pull one of his eyes out of his skull to show the circuits running behind, then clicks it back into place. "-like eyes, or sometimes completely edited out, like the digestive system. The PAK does all the work, the meatsuit is barely transport - just like a ship. So why not modify it until it's virtually perfect ?"

Dib, all the while, is trying to focus on the information offered to him, and not on the thighs pressed against his middle section, thank you very much.

"We are produced in a way that makes us completely autonomous from the moment we're hatched." Zim pauses, and Dib distantly realizes that his hand is still resting on the alien's narrow abdomen. He's about to pull away when green fingers take once again his wrist hostage, but this time it doesn't seem to be going anywhere.

"Do you understand, Dib-thing ?" he asks, expression earnest.

Dib shakes his head, very slowly.

"I- I don't think-"

Zim huffs and brings the hand all the way up, pressing his face into the warm -and slightly moist, to Dib's distress- palm of his best friend/nemesis.

"Irkens _don't_ love," he insists. "Irkens are programmed to survive alone, to be able to rely solely on themselves. Love is... just not something we do. We don't get attached, we only live for the glory of the Empire, and for the pleasure of our Tallest." He grimaces at his own words, but carries on. " _Irk_ , there's nothing objectively efficient about needing somebody."

Dib swallows again, with great difficulty.

"...I sense a _but_."

Zim stares at him, inexistant eyebrows furrowed in a startlingly human display of vulnerability. Then he pointedly looks up and down at the two of them. It dawns on Dib that the way Zim is straddling him, has shown him how his body works -has allowed his hand on his _throat_ \- is all but accidental.

He's illustrating his point.

The alien leans forwards, eyes screwed shut and forehead resting against Dib's.

"Please tell me you understand," he whispers.

It sounds like a plea. It sounds nothing like the monster in Dib's nightmares.

So, of course, Dib kisses him.


	2. Let's Set The World On Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it's the first time I spent so long re-reading so thoroughly an update for a fic. Hope you'll like it !
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS ! Dib and Zim are being a little too enthusiastic and forget protection - condoms, mostly, but now as I'm editing this I realize they didn't use (and I didn't mention, although I really should have,) a dental dam either. Be responsible, perform safe sex, kids !

The fun bit about aliens is that there is always something new and unexpected to learn from them : shall it be social or biological, unique to a single entity or common to an entire species, there's so much to be discovered.

And Dib, fingers deep inside of Zim, is having a field day.

The Irken is a trembling mess, panting in Dib's ear and shaking every time the exploring digits curl and twist, brushing over sensitive areas that would have never been touched otherwise.

Dib has trouble ignoring the insistant tent of his pajama pants, but the noises he manages to coax from Zim are _oh_ so worth it. He can and will make abstraction of his own dick when Zim's is right there, bright pink and almost fluorescent in the dark of the room, half-unsheathed and poking from his crotch, Dib's hand disappearing just behind it.

"Tell me again," Dib demands, breathless, absolutely delighted by the (surprisingly not so) unexpected turn of events.

Zim's entire body shudders, the muscles of his thighs quivering with the effort of keeping him upright so Dib has some room to maneuver, but he likes explaining things to Dib almost as much as he likes the sound of his own voice, so it doesn't take long for him to continue his biology lesson - despite his voice pitched an octave higher than usual.

"Th-there is little to no body dimorphism between male and female Irkens. It's -ah- mostly a matter of sensitivity, since females have longer- ah, _fuck_ , Dib ! ...Longer antennae and m-most of the time little cilia around the eyes. Make them more receptive to external stimuli. Statistica _aaaaally_ , it makes them better Invaders, too-"

"So all Irkens have both sets ?" Dib inquires, and crooks his fingers for good mesure.

Zim lets out a colorful string of curses and shoots him a reproachful glare, but he barely shrugs, unbashful.

"Spikes and vents," he clarifies after a second. "Should be, _fuck_ , be unusable, unless someone irresponsible enough, or _brilliant_ enough, tinkers with the PAK and disables the- the mating regulator."

At that, Dib pulls his fingers out, making Zim whine at the abrupt loss.

"Do you regret it ?" he asks bluntly, then again when the Irken's foggy eyes strain to focus back on him. " _Zim_. Do you regret messing with your PAK ?"

"Do I look like I regret it ?" the concerned snickers, skin dark all over and inner thighs glistening with slick and precum. "Look at Zim, taller than he could have ever hoped. I'm free to do whatever I want. My mind has never been clearer."

"Fair enough," Dib admits and shoves his hand right back up.

Zim yelps, despite his body offering barely any resistance against the addition of another finger. Dib wonders how far the alien is able to accommodate the intrusion - not that he's massive by any means, but he's definitely bigger than three fingers.

The sudden mental picture of being buried to the hilt into Zim makes the blood rush to his head so fast that his glasses fog up, and he needs a second for the living room to stop spinning.

Now _that_ , that's an interesting thought.

Zim's dick -his _spike_ , Dib reminds himself- slides fully out, flashy pink standing at attention against the soft green of his stomach. With more space in the vent, Dib's fingers unexpectedly catch on the edge of something, and Zim jolts on his lap.

" _Gah !_ " he blurts out rather eloquently, eyes wide with shock and tongue lolling out, and Dib gives himself a mental high-five.

"Is that the base of your spike ?" he asks, a bewildered chuckle in his voice.

"D-Don't," Zim warns, glaring when he senses the fingertips coming right back over the spot. "Dib, I'm fucking serious, _don't you dare-_ "

The other gives it a tentative stoke but doesn't push, unwilling to cross boundaries they have yet to establish. He drags his hand out and all the way up the length of the spike, and Zim positively melts under his touch.

"This okay ?" he checks as he pumps a couple of times, and Zim nods, for once in his life left speechless, braced as he is against the couch's backrest, his flushed face hidden in the crook of his elbow.

When Zim comes, it's almost quietly, but he's shaking so much he looks like he's vibrating. Dib thinks he might have to catch him before he can fall from the couch and hurt himself on the corner of the coffee table, but the alien seems to regain control of his muscles at the last second, sitting himself more stably on Dib's lap and blinking owlishly, as if surprised by his own reaction.

"That was... Acceptable," he coughs, his voice very fucking rough, and Dib feels a spear of pride hit him in the stomach.

"You looked like you were enjoying yourself up there," he comments smugly, and Zim yawns before bowing down to hide his face against Dib's neck, the mess of cum and slick between them be damned.

"Give me five minutes and I'll blow you," the Invader mutters against his collarbone, apparently knocked out for the time being.

Dib hums, still very aware of the raging erection poking Zim in the stomach, lined up with the quickly retreating spike.

"I'll hold you onto that, Space Boy."

____________________________________________________________________________

It becomes some sort of habit.

It's not frequent, not as much as Dib would like it to be. They spend too much time fighting over stupid things, or being mad at each-other, or studying together for finals, for sex to be anything more than occasional.

But it still happens.

_Oh boy does it happen._

They write it off as an experiment to test Zim's knowledge and Dib's limits.

The couch becomes their regular spot, at first, until a very close encounter with Gaz and a baseball bat, after what they decide that common spaces are a no-go.

There's Zim's base, of course, with the reclined computer chairs and countertops at the perfect height, but GIR has access to pretty much every room and also the terrible ability to come home at the worst time possible with roadkill he intends to keep as pet.

(There's also the one incident in Hi Skool, more specifically in the chemistry lab's spare closet, but they don't talk about it. Dib has to live with the fact that he'll never be able to look Mrs Diggins in the eyes again.)

  
In consequence, Dib's bedroom becomes an all time favorite.

So here they are.

Again.

_Experimenting_.

" _Fuuuck_ ," Zim moans, voice high and raspy, as he presses the heel of his hand against the slight, but definitely present, bulge of his stomach.

Dib's eyes roll back in their sockets and chokes back a groan. Zim's head snaps back up to look at him, surprised.

"You felt that ?"

He clenches down his vent tentatively, and Dib scrambles to grasp his hips in a desperate attempt to stop him, almost throwing the Irken off his lap.

" _Don't_ ," he hisses, "If you don't want me to lose it in the next two seconds."

Red galaxies light up in challenge, and Dib almost folds in half when the rings of muscles around his dick squeeze impossibly tighter, but instead of kneeing Zim accidently in the back (they do call it a knee-jerk reaction for a reason), he slams his hips up punishingly.

"Play nice," he growls.

Zim gasps and nods frantically. Dib squints, a half-mocking, half-pleased smirk slowly forming on his face.

"Oh, _you liked that_ ," he snorts, and Zim blushes, eyes shining, mouth fighting back a grin.

"...Maybe," he admits, and shivers when Dib's rumbling laugh hits him right to the core.

He looks thoroughly fucked out. Dib vaguely wonders if he's not just having a very vivid, very hopeful dream, but then Zim grinds down hard enough to leave bruises on Dib's hips for days, and _yep, definitely real, alright_.

He lets out a howl that is all but human, which only encourages the alien.

" _Oh, Irk, that should be illegal_ ," he whimpers when Zim does it a third time, his head slamming so hard against the headboard of his bed it makes stars explode in front of his eyes.

The alien stares at him like mystified, and it hits him square in the face that he just swore in Irken, of all things. Zim flushes an even darker shade of green, swearing under his breath, and Dib promises to himself that he will learn the entire language _or so help him God_.

This time, Dib comes first, bucking up with a jerk aggressively enough to push Zim over the edge, after what they have a loud fight about the appropriate use of condoms, if only to simplify the mess that goes along with _coming into someone_ , and do a walk of shame all the way back to Zim's base to get him cleaned out.

Professor Membrane coincidentally corners Dib over coffee the next morning and gives him a very extended and very awkward sex talk about the importance of protection not only for health reasons but as a form of respect towards one's partner, and Dib is trying very hard not to die of embarrassment.

(His dad knowing about this also means that Gaz told him, and Dib wonders if buying her the last opus of the Return of the Grave Robber will work both as an apology for the noise and a bribe to keep her mouth shut in the future.)

(Spoiler : it doesn't.)

(At least she looks pleased with her new game.)

(Dib knows that she means well, that she cares, even though she tries her damnest not to show it. He _knows_.)

In consequence, Zim and Dib agree to be more meticulous with how they handle the experiment, because that's how one does science : a lot of tries and fails and, sometimes, if they're lucky, some new data Dib can store in a corner of his head for lonely nights.

But that's just what it is. An experiment.

He needs to believe it's just that, because he knows that if he thinks about it, seriously thinks about it, he might find himself spiraling into considerations he's in no way or shape equipped to deal with.

_Thank you, but no thank you._

  
Instead of introspection, like anyone else would have done by now, Dib insists in losing himself even more in his new hobby, which involves finding out how loud he can make Zim scream. It has been high on his to-do list for years, but with the latest plot twist it requires a lot less scalpels.

...Maybe it's for the best, after all.

Thanks to extensive make-out sessions, they determine that human saliva doesn't hurt the Irken the way water does, and that discovery leads to more bold research, _aka_ Dib with his nose pressed flat against Zim's navel, the entirety of his spike down his throat.

It's... surprising, as far as the interspecies' adaptability goes : what Zim lacks in length, he more than makes up in thickness, and Dib's jaw aches from the unreasonable stretch. It's pleasantly painful, in the way muscles would throb after a night running in the woods.

Zim is damn near hyperventilating from the effort of not ramming into his throat, and Dib is very fucking grateful for that. There's a series of pants, followed by a squeaky whine, and then a loud crack coming from the PAK. At that, Dib freezes, sliding off with a wet pop when Zim tenses under his hands.

"Hey, that didn't sound good-" he starts, but suddenly feels green hands pushing him back down.

"If you even _think_ about stopping I'm ripping out your carotid with my teeth," Zim informs him very calmly between two deep breaths.

Dib swallows.

"...Alright then."

He intensifies his efforts and eventually Zim comes down his throat with a groan, fingers tight on the human's scalp. Dib thanks whoever graced him with a weak gag reflex, and whoever first decided to take Irken claws away.

The PAK turns out to be fine, only a little overheated, and Zim sleeps the night away curled up under Dib's arm.

Which is fine. No problem at all. It's not uncommon to sleep over at your nemesis' house, normal people do it all the time. Wait, not nemesis ; the word doesn't sound as accurate as it once was. Best friend, maybe ? Fuck buddy ? Oh, hell. Whatever.

It's fine.

It's just an experiment.

That's all there is to it, it's all it has to be, because if it isn't, Dib has no clue what it says about him. What it says about his propensity to jump any willing monster's bones.

Granted, the only monster that he ever fucked with is Zim, but it still counts. If people finally accepted the obvious truth that Zim is an alien, they would just as soon accuse Dib of taking his obsession one step too far. 

Which is true, but that doesn't mean anyone should say it.

He catches himself thinking about college, and in the corner of his mind's eye there is a speck of green, because he's not dumb enough to dismiss the possibility of Zim following him there too, because why wouldn't he ? It's not like Zim has anything going on, like, ever.

"Eyes on me, Dib-beast," Zim hums against his throat as he carefully drives his spike all the way up Dib's ass, driving him effectively away from meaningless considerations about _college_.

And, okay, he thought Zim was thick in his mouth ? _Fucking hell_ was that an understatement. He's this close to lose it.

It's just on the right side of too much, and yet he knows he can take so much more if needed. It pulls and pushes at parts of him he didn't even know he had, and once he gets past the discomfort of the intrusion, it's overall a very enjoyable experience.

His vision is blurry from the lack of glasses, lost at some point in their race to get the other naked, but he can still vaguely make out the alien above him, boring into his soul with two big red eyes that must contain the whole universe.

Zim manages to thrust three times before the build-up makes them both crash, hard.

They're a mess, and Dib loves every second of it. He cracks an eye open, and his heart does a little twist, because Zim is so close to his face that he can see him clearly, looking back at him with the most blissed out expression Dib has ever seen on him, with something that's frighteningly close to adoration twinkling in his eyes.

  
It hits him at this point that there's a deeper motivation to the experiment than just the rush of endorphins that comes with sex.

Sure, it feels good and all, but he survived all these years without much more than rubbing one out every once in a while, and the idea of doing anything remotely close to what he's doing with Zim with anyone else just feels... _wrong_.

So, clearly, it's not just the sex part, or even the sex-with-an-alien part.

What he gets out of it is a way to "defeat" Zim for a little while, make him soft and malleable, maybe even smooth out the worried wrinkle between these giant bug's eyes of his.

Bring out emotions that aren't blind rage or stubborn denial.

He looks up again, at the alien who has failed to invade the Earth and instead blasted his way into his life and his brain and under every inch of his skin, and _here's that little twist again_. Jesus fuck, he's so glad he picked up paranormal as a passion so early in life, if this is the kind of rewards he gets.

Zim is still in him, with no sign of moving away anytime soon, and is currently busy nuzzling under his jaw. Can aliens even nuzzle without noses ? Probably. Maybe. His brain is a little more than braincell soup right now, so he makes a mental note to ask about it later. For now, he's just going to relax and appreciate the solid weight on top of him.

He likes that.

He likes Zim's hands tangled in his hair, either tugging or running through the strands. He likes Zim's mouth on his, bruising, and also feather light. He likes Zim's skin on his, everywhere they manage to make contact. He likes Zim's voice when he's completely relaxed. He likes Zim's tendency to share his "superior food", that usually turn out to be high-glucids junk that's barely any better than the local pizza. He likes Zim's terrible attempts at acting human, at blending in, and somehow managing it perfectly. He likes Zim's confidence in his extravagant plans, and the way he listens to him for ideas. He likes Zim-

He likes Zim.

Wait.

...Oh.

Oh no.

Oh _fuck_.

**Author's Note:**

> The titles are all lyrics I took from the song "We Are Young", which works surprisingly well as a ZaDr song.
> 
> Please leave kudos and comments !


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